Page 31 of Free Fall #1

A quick glance shows us that the meadows are empty, and we’re alone here in the morning light. I grab the speaker from our camping area, and when he sees what I’ve got in my hand, he connects his phone.

A piano-based KPop track wafts from the speaker, and Sejin takes my hand, leading me into an easy dance on the top of the rock.

I’m grateful for the first time in my life for the ballroom dance portion of gym class in middle school.

At least I can follow as he steps me through the movements.

The sun rises higher, and the yellow breaks into a coral along the path of the mountains.

Eventually he drags me close and, as the song changes to another equally appropriate for a breaking dawn, he presses his lips to mine in a soft kiss.

Some part of me is aware this is absurd and romantic, and that I should, by all rights, be alone in my van resting for Monday’s training climb.

But I’m swept up by the moment, charmed by the way his hair spills around his face and flies in the breeze and how his smile turns his eyes into those shimmery half-moons, and the way he somehow still smells appealing after a night roughing it.

I’m a little ripe myself, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he presses against me, dotting kisses on my stubbly jaw and back to my lips.

He’s singing softly now with emotion and intonation, as if he knows what he’s saying, though we both know he doesn’t.

Not entirely anyway. The gist of it, maybe, which makes me curious…

“This song, what’s it about?”

“A once-beautiful thing that lives on only in memory.”

“Ah.”

“Sad, huh?”

But it’s not that sad. I like the concept.

Everything passes. Hard things, pretty things.

Happiness and suffering. It all slides away like a river rushing downstream.

You can’t catch any of it. Memory is the one place those things can live.

And beautiful memories—which are few and far between in my life—are the best, of course.

“It could be sadder. It could be a horrible thing that lives on in memory. Those are the saddest things of all.”

Sejin’s wistful smile fades away entirely, and I want to take my words back. I’ve ruined the moment.

“I mean, at least the beautiful thing happened at all,” I murmur.

Sejin clears his throat and starts to turn away.

I grab his arm. “Listen, I didn’t make a lot of memories growing up that I want to hold on to, so—for me—the idea of something beautiful living on in your mind is really nice, but I don’t have a lot of personal experience with it.”

“Ah.”

“I’m sorry. I think I said something wrong.”

He shakes his head. “No. You’re right. I was thinking of my mom, and losing her never stops feeling sad, despite all my wonderful memories. But maybe I’m doing her a disservice feeling that way. Maybe I should be more like you—glad that I have beautiful memories to cherish.”

“I had a Jewish…” I stop before I say the word friend, because he’d been a fellow newbie climber that Peggy Jo had taken on for about five weeks six years ago, and I’d met him a few times.

Is that an acquaintance? Probably. “I knew a Jewish guy, and he used to say ‘may her memory be a blessing’ when someone died. I mean, that’s what he said when Peggy Jo’s mom died, but it seemed like something he said regularly in death situations… ”

Sejin snorts. “‘Death situations.’ Oh, Dan. You’re a mess.”

“I like that, though. Memories as a blessing. Believe me, when you’ve got a lot of bad memories, the idea of a memory being a blessing and not a curse is really nice.”

“I bet it is, and you’re right. My mom’s memory is an incredible blessing in my life.”

“She’d want you to think about it that way,” I say, which might be overstepping, but I feel a certainty of it, deep down in my soul. “She’d want you to remember her with joy.”

“You are so weird,” Sejin says, after a few moments of pondering the sunrise. Then he adds, “I’m sorry you don’t have a lot of good memories.”

I touch his cheek. “Here. Now. This will be a good memory.”

Truth be told, I’ve made a lot of good memories in recent years, even if I haven’t, until this moment, thought of what I’ve been doing in quite that way.

I’ve always used other words for it: living in the moment, living fully, enjoying the now.

But, here with Sejin, I see it for what it is.

I’ve been creating a nice buffer of good memories to protect against all the bad in my past. All my focus on the now is one more giant step away from the darkness of then.

Even the suffering I put myself through while climbing is my suffering, chosen by me and me alone. The wall I’ve chosen. The route I’ve chosen. The risks I’ve chosen. All are protections against my ugly past, devoid of choice, devoid of victory. Devoid of love.

Tangling my hands into Sejin’s hair, I pull him toward me for a deep kiss. He falls into it easily. As the sun rises high enough in the sky to mark that new day has begun, we break apart, gazing into each other’s eyes.

A new beginning.